of fluent French he’d overheard and, more importantly, Miss Martin’s kindness to her elderly guardian.
The idea would, he thought, solve a multitude of problems in an efficient manner. He liked efficiency. Indeed, in the management of his estate, he would never dismiss such a practical solution without consideration. Surely, his personal affairs deserved the same attention.
And so he had listened to Lady Eavensham’s vapid guests while thoughts whirled and he veered between the alternating conclusions that he was mad and eminently sensible.
He had retired, slept poorly, only to have the problem brought to a head the next morning with Hudson’s arrival in the library.
‘A message, milord,’ Hudson announced.
Sebastian took it. As always, he was conscious of that shiver of apprehension, excitement, hope...despair.
It was from his housekeeper. He recognised the script. He scanned the lines which were businesslike and succinct.
The governess had quit.
‘Miss Elizabeth has taken to remaining on her rocking horse for hours. Indeed, it is hard to make her stop even for meals and Miss Grosvenor could not endure the constant creaking of the rockers combined with Miss Elizabeth’s silence.’
Damn. Sebastian crumpled the note, throwing it towards the hearth where it ignited. He watched the flame lick the paper’s edge, the fire growing in momentary strength before subsiding to ash.
Damn and blast. Did not one governess have any backbone or staying power? Did none of these women have the skills necessary to return Elizabeth to some semblance of normality?
And it was then, standing in Lord Eavensham’s library and staring at the dying flame, that had Sebastian decided.
* * *
Sarah found Lord Langford in the drawing room standing beside the unlit hearth. Although not much taller than Kit, he dominated the room and dwarfed the shabby furniture in a way her childhood friend could not.
It was not only his physical size, but his presence and the cold, controlled force of his personality.
Like a volcano under snow.
‘Lord Langford.’ She stepped towards him.
‘Good morning, Miss Martin.’ He made his bow.
‘Did you wish to see me? Or perhaps Mrs Tuttle misunderstood. I could fetch Mrs Crawford.’
‘Indeed, no. I expressly asked for you.’ He spoke in a crisp, authoritative tone.
‘Oh.’ A shiver of nervousness tingled through her. ‘Pray be seated.’
They both sat. Sarah felt stiff, as if her arms and legs had lost fluidity. It had been easier to talk to him while rescuing Albert, as though the very oddness of their occupation had made social conventions unnecessary.
She rubbed her hands together. They made a chafing sandpaper sound, emphasising the chill silence of the room.
‘May I offer you refreshment?’ she asked belatedly.
‘No, thank you. Indeed, I will get straight to the point.’
‘Please do.’ She exhaled with relief. ‘I much prefer blunt speech.’
He straightened his shoulders and shifted to face her more squarely as though putting his mind to an unpleasant task.
‘Miss Martin, I need—May I have the honour of your hand in marriage?’
Sarah gaped. Her jaw hung loose. Her eyes widened and her breath left her body in a winded gasp.
For a moment, her brain could not make sense of his words as though he had spoken German or another foreign tongue.
Then she understood.
Anger flashed through her, hot and powerful. She bounded to her feet, her cheeks heated and her hands balled with fury. ‘My lord, I am not without pride and I will not allow you to make sport of me.’
He stood also. ‘Miss Martin, I am quite serious and never make sport.’
She stilled. ‘Then you are mad.’
‘I do not believe so. Lunacy does not run in my family.’ He paused, his expression suddenly bleak. ‘I hope.’
‘You expect me to believe that you are serious?’
‘I seldom have expectations, but I assure you that I am serious,’ he said.
She stared at him, taking in his even features, the dark grey eyes flecked with green, the dark sweep of hair across his forehead and the firm jaw. There was nothing about him to hint at madness or jest.
Turning, she rubbed her fingers along the mantel, studying their outline against the wood’s grain as she tried to marshal her thoughts.
The clock ticked.
‘If you are neither mad nor making sport of me,’ she said at length, ‘you must have a reason.’
‘I need someone to look after Elizabeth.’
‘For which one employs a governess.’
‘They have a habit of leaving,’ he said.
‘Marriage seems a somewhat extreme action to ensure continuity of staff.’
‘It does,’ he said.
She raised her brows.
‘My daughter is...quiet.’
‘A quality generally admired in children.’
He did not answer for a moment and when he did, his words were slow as though reluctantly drawn from him. ‘She hasn’t spoken a word in six months. They find Elizabeth’s silence unnerving. She also rocks her body and, according to my housekeeper, has now taken to riding on the rocking horse in a compulsive manner.’
‘I am sorry. Is she ill?’
‘I have two children,’ he answered, his voice still flat and drained of emotion. ‘Their mother chose to leave for France with them and her lover. She was subsequently executed.’
‘How awful.’
‘I presume it was for her.’
Sarah shivered at the detached tone.
‘Both children were held for ransom. I paid and my daughter, Elizabeth, was returned to me.’
‘And your son?’
‘I don’t know.’ A muscle rippled in his cheek.
Instinctively
